Finer Than Wine
by Tala1
Summary: 1940. 1942. 1987. 2003. These are the years the Gandor family remember best and are the last they share together. For Claire however, their end don't quite mean the same thing. Gandor centric.


**A/N: **This is a Baccano fic (dur) and focuses entirely on the Gandor family (Luck and Claire mainly, with a bit of Tick, Keith, and Berga). I have -ONLY- watched the anime, and read a bit of what becomes of some of the characters in the novels. I'm going to omit that entirely. So if you see an error (like immortality) its cause...that's what I felt like and that's how it goes. Mind you quite a bit of this has no canon bearing. All the same I hope you enjoy this quite a bit as the person who I wrote (and agonized dearly) over for days. At nearly 11K of words I salute anyone that manages to get through it. There's a bit of Claire/Luck if you squint in some places, but its just a big massive GANDOR SHIP (Hell yes). The formatting doesn't have the prettyness that the official document version has so...I did my best within the intense restrictions of formatting. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Finer Than Wine**

**-1940-**

"Don't you feel the least bit curious about where the letter came from?" The first voice piped up suddenly during the middle of their typical poker game amidst an echo of chips clunking together as they were tossed from collective hands. The surrounding air carried a mingling scent of tobacco smokes and cigars that lingered past their expiry, often nestled snug between a stiff drink of choice and betting chips. "I mean, come on Luck," Continued Berga while watching the youngest sibling take another swig of drink as he contemplated his hand, "It could be Claires' invitation to his weddin' or something. Don't dat sound like a worthwhile reason to at least open it?" Although the suggestion was made, no effort came to reach and open its contents. While Luck appreciated his older brother's opinion, he also honestly didn't care for expending effort to open it and find out that they were summoned like demons to a certain place at a certain time. After all, why would they, immortals, indulge in mortal traditions? Lucks face changed to a deep frown while he folded his hand.

"Sorry boys' I'm out. Looks like I lose this round. Lemmie know when the next one starts up will ya?" Setting the cards in a neat pile by his play area the young capo took his drink and excused himself. His two brothers watched in silence and waited until the door he exited from closed shut. The eldest of the Gandor mafia family reached across the table to snatch the next card to flip over. Their game continued on like Luck never left.

"Dat jus' ain't right. Lucky nevah loses a game. Ya' think we should do sometin'?" Asked Berga.

Keith shook his head and threw another chip into the pile. _He'll get over it in time, _and reached for another cigar in his chest pocket. _If he doesn't, only then will we have cause concern. He's young and brilliant...life for him is going to be different than us in our prime. He may never enjoy life as we did. _The man's' eye twitched faintly as he took another card and leaned back, taking a long needed drag. To the side, his last remaining player threw his cards down in a fit of gloating and reached to collect the prize money. Keith however stopped him midway.

"Huh? But I got four-of-a-kind...that's a winning hand right dere'!"

Keith gestured to his straight flush and pushed the money towards Luck's side of the table, much to the rising complaints of his younger sibling 'But he left da' table! Dats a forfeit!' and proceeded to gather the cards strewn about and shuffle them. Berga looked ready to flip the table over (something the brothers were all glad didn't happen too regularly to replace the legs, after all, they had a reputation to uphold) but refrained by flipping over all of the youngest Gandor's cards. "Say WHAT!? A ROYAL FLUSH? WHY THE HELL WOULD YOU FORFEIT A GAME WITH THE BEST HAND-" A Berga continued his tirade Keith took it upon himself to snatch the letter and slice it open with a spare knife. His eyebrow raised a hair upon skimming the contents that were brief as they were concrete. He promptly waved it for attention.

It took another five minutes before the raging tirade simmered back down to reality and noticed the fluttering paper dancing in the air, "What's dat?"

"Claire."

* * *

It wasn't as though the young Gandor meant to up and leave his brothers like that on purpose. His hand would have won him the money and the bartering letter which he had been indifferent to from the start. Yet when he gazed upon the faces of the two that would be around for all eternity, never growing older and outliving the lives of their wives and children down the road...it all became too much to think about in a hazy, cramped room. For that reason he headed outside of their hideout, needing the fresh air and open space to clear his head. He wouldn't stray far and knew that they wouldn't start the next game unless he returned, nor would they take it upon themselves to retrieve him like he requested. That was how it worked in their close family; if someone needed space, no other member asked questions-you just did it and dropped the hint on the spot. Outside their tiny abode the world went on as it had done so since they were born, the people unchanging to time that milled about with their children and pets while circling the streets like insects. In their eyes he appeared no different, although a few would look at him funny, perhaps remembering a youth identical to him ten years ago with the same hair, same style, same _everything. _That was the problem the Gandor brothers were beginning to notice as everyone else aged on and they did not. In the beginning, becoming immortal seemed swell, a blessing to ensure their place with purpose to the Gandor name. But the longer he was left to think of it the more Luck detested the idea of living. People pulled guns on him and he barely raised his own, _what was the point? _

Closing his eyes to the hustle and bustle he moved with the flow of traffic to the left of their family establishment, hands fumbling for a smoke and light. Initially he had adopted the habit because it made him feel like a big boy in the family, even though it tasted like shit and left an aftertaste he would be replacing immediately with whiskey or a shot of vodka. Fumbling for a lighter in his pockets he cursed himself when he came up empty handed. That was until a mix of red and yellow light flickered in front of his eyes, erupting like a fireplace igniting before abruptly disappearing again and leaving the smell of nicotine to spread through his nostrils and its equally calming effect to take hold. He stared cross-eyed in silence seeing the deft hands that solved his problems disappear from sight and instead loosely flop over his far shoulder. The black gave it away before the faint smell of copper did, "Claire, whattaya' doin' ere?"

Claire was a head taller than him and built with a physique that undermined him at first glance. Everyone who knew him, or came to know him, knew he was dangerous and not someone that was safe to be around for too long. His hair was red, a joke which circulated that his hair color was a result of permanent dye from his victims; untrue of course, because they grew up with their adopted sibling before his profession changed him into something...not quite what they remembered. That was putting it lightly and Luck found his light hearted attempts at lifting the mood so suddenly and randomly welcome, "Thought you were over in da' next state doin a job, or was that too hard fer' ya?" It struck the young brunette how eerily quiet his adopted brother was being as they walked like old friends. The image might have worked if Claire wasn't out of his mind half the time and insisting everything was...what was it? An illusion conjured by his mind? They passed an alleyway that Luck had eyed with apprehension; he wouldn't have put it past the red-head to suddenly pull him into it for no reason but shits and giggles while he-

The _second _alley that broke out of the crowd abruptly replaced the open world with the dark and muddled fog of its uglier side in an instant it took to breathe. Luck winced at the impact of his skull against the brick face of the building and grimaced as blood trickled like a river down his neck. The quiet hum of inappropriate jazz music whispered through the buildings not-so-soundproof interior and made the situation seem like a surreal waltz. He found no point in raising his hand and wiping the blood away while his brother waited for a moment to give him need to do more in his twisted reality. Instead, Luck remained calm and leaned into the wall while the unnoticed blood crawled back up his neck and his flesh knitted itself back together while he fixed Claire with an unimpressed look. He had _hoped _it was the look Berga gave Claire when he did something stupid and need reprimanding cause god willing no one else could control their third oldest brothers antics. Yet, for no reason at all, Claire took to his word as one that usually was listened to. "Can I help you Claire? This quite an unusual way to greet me after a few years apart, don't ya think?"

A flash of white teeth stretched from the grin, "Yeah, its great isn't it? The surprise on your face when you thought I was gonna pull you down some dark corner was _soooo _tempting to fulfill, especially when your eyes got the look of fear in them..." He was close enough to his face that to a victim or some poor bastard targeted for deluded reasons, most would cry to god for mercy fearing the man. For Luck he gave a light smile while the red-head gave him space to dust off his suit and regain his proper stoic front. While he did so, Claire carried on in a tangent, hardly pausing to breathe and give a reason for a_nything _"That job was easy! I finished it last week and thought I should send you an invitation to my wedding but figured you would probably ignore it because...that's what you do. I felt like I'd come to punish you but I can't fault the snail mail service for taking so long...but I could and then I couldn't...ugh...it was so hard to come and see your face that all forms of torment escapes me..."

_Should I be glad? _The methods of torment and torture were extensive as they were never ending in his brother's line of work. Feeling fortunate to be spared he took a puff of his smoke and shrugged, "My thanks and sympathies to the dilemma. So the card was an invitation to your wedding with Chane," The youngest Gandor expressed in his ever flat tone.

The assassin pressed his hand to his chest and crowed with delight, "And that's not all Lucky!"

Luck waited and checked the time. _Five, four, three, two, one..._

"AND-the birth of my daughter!" The assassin crowed.

Luck coughed suddenly, the half of the cigarette in his mouth swallowed as he severed it and spat out the rest. He doubled over in a fit of coughing, made worse by the pounding hand on his back that insisted it was doing right by making his lungs struggle further to grasp sense of air.

"I KNOW! You're so incredibly happy for my beautiful doll-"

_DAUGHTER?_

* * *

**-1987-**

"Mr. Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck..."

The young Mafioso looked up from the scattered papers strewn around him to gaze at his torture specialist. The held vowels in his speech gave him away like the insistent shrill 'snips' of his scissors. They would cut regardless if Luck pointedly hinted that they weren't supposed to be used like that in public. "Mr. Luuuuuck has a trouble look his face. Something the maaaaaaatteer? I can cut it, snip, snip, snip...short work of stuuuuuuuuff..."But the brunette ignored him and returned to organizing and reading through reports among other duties tasked to him. The blonde had aged a few years down the road before Luck requested Firo to allow him to take one other person with him on the road to eternity. No one wanted the assassin, Claire, to follow the Gandor family to the next century so he instantly drew his attention to Tick. There was something right (and wrong) with the outstanding kid. Although he lacked a degree of intelligence he made up with his ability to do his job with precision and without complaint. However when it came to the alone time he tended to spend with Tick, Luck grew considerably annoyed. Shaking his head the Gandor dived into his work, things that were meaningful lost to the dotted line while he-

**S-N-I-P**

A flash of steel entered his vision and forced the Mafioso to launch out of his chair, hand instinctively trained to grab the revolver and point it. At the chattering insistence of steel he heaved a sigh; Tick apparently doing the same while he took it upon himself to inch closer than most dared to, "Scared of little ole meeeeeeeee? I don't do wrong. I wanted to seeeeeeeeee your bonds." There he went again, about bonds and the invisible ties between people. That kind of rubbish was for weaklings who desired to have actual relationships with people. _Normal _people, the kind which Luck had turned down time and time again regardless of how they flung themselves for his attention, be it subtle groping from woman, to-the-point requests from men. Luck became no stranger to the woes of the world and responded in the best way by slamming the door in their face and wearing an emotionless mask that he knew worried those that knew him. Oh they knew him, they just didn't know _him_, the Mafioso child that took up the mantel of their family name because he was obligated to do so, especially when his older siblings were all for it. Family responsibility tied his hands in ways he had no say, and to that extent perhaps it molded him to become something he knew he wasn't. Maybe Claire had been right after all. He was ill suited for the mafia life... The gun felt far too heavy now and he lowered it down with a loud clunk.

Still, they had rules for a reason in his organization. "...You know better than to use those outside your work Tick. I would advise you remain from taking them out. You scare the boys enough as it is," Humored the young Gandor, motioning to the steel scissors still half-way between a clean cut while the cheerful torture-specialist paused at the words. _Snip. Snip. SnipSnipSnipSnip._

Tick smiled, "That's ooooooooooookay. I have a lifetime to learn tooooooooooo. Don't you?" And before Luck could question his motives for barging in like that, unannounced and for absolutely no reason, he was gone almost as indiscreetly as he came. Left back in the dark of his office the amber eyes lowered to work he had wholeheartedly came to do and picked up the pen once more, unexpectedly shifting his gaze back to the man-made weapon . Abandoning the pen in favor he lifted the burden of death with his favored hand, the barrel steadily raised to the window he whirled around to face, now repaired since his last meeting with his middle brother, and cocked the safety mechanism off.

**BANG.**

* * *

**-1942-**

"Hey, Lucky!" Worn eyes were already losing the battle against family documents and funding rose up from boredom, as though inspiration struck him from something other than passing chirps from birds outside. Strolling through the door prematurely to his shout gave Luck reason to stand and greet his sibling with an extended hand.

"Claire...Or is it Vino? Or have you found a suitable name? You did mention you were inquiring..." Luck started as he took the assassins hand in his for a formal shake. Claire was not known to be a gentle man unless it involved his wife, and sometimes even then he was unpredictably violent when the world at large invaded his minds reality. "...It is good to see you." To any other, Luck probably wouldn't have meant it quite the same way to his sociopath brother, and knew generally the elder Gandor tended to value his words a little more than others. "A drink?"

"Nah, I quit drinking. Chane was all against it when we had our first chid. Da' little thing is gettin' so big ya' should come see er' sometime. As fer the name, it's a work in progress. What's the rush?" Gleaming red reflected the smug confidence of the world working on his time rather than the universe. "Have you been seeing anyone Lucky?" Asked Claire his calculating gaze following the young mafioso as he poured a tall glass of whiskey. Sometimes something extremely hard was needed to have a lengthy discussion with a lunatic-depending on the time and place which certainly did no favors to Luck now. The day had been long and just decided to drag on like a dying mans crawl. At the wordless shake of the young capo Claire made a face and took up residence on the couch, "Whatta shame. I expected my world to grace you with'em like some sort'a magnet. You got the goods little Luck...but I guess your charm could use some work."

Luck bit back a sigh. _It's bad enough_, he surmised in his head, _that Berga and Keith tease me about dat same thing every day. Some aren't meant to love Claire. _

"Hey Lucky...you're spilling it..." Claire helpfully pointed out and drew the capo back to Earth. Luck gave a start and wrenched the container topside with a slam and sought some spare cloths in his office. He really should take up Berga to install an automatic water dispenser but the idea was always taken over with something far more important. As he grabbed the cloth he heard Claire speak up, "Ya 'all right there? Spacing out...that's not the Luck I remember. Wanna talk about it?" Luck didn't even bother to look over his shoulder and snap at him to shut up. Running the cloth over vigorously he quickly soaked up most of the mess and dried the glass he picked up and turned around.

"Haven't met the dame...yet." Admitted Luck forcing a smile as he offered the glass and got no thanks. Wine colored eyes narrowed instead, studying him from top to bottom that left the young Gandor a little nervous. Quickly changing the subject he retrieved his whiskey and took a sip, tipping it to the dark clad figure. "Yet, I said. What's your business here? Woulda' thought you were done with contracts and the like now that ya' got a family. It would kill me Claire; to hear anything happen to you and your family should it arise of connections I am the cause of. I would never forgive myself if that came to pass."

"It would kill you, huh?" The red-head didn't take a sip of water and instead fiddled with it in his hands. Somehow Luck imagined if he wanted to, that gravity would defy the water if Claire wished it to. That was the kind of presence and confident air which bled through him. "Somehow...that doesn't seem likely..." The offhand remark caused Luck to be on guard, enough to send alcohol burning down the wrong tube and his being into a fit of unrestrained coughing. Claire continued on like it never happened, "Anyway, I had one last mission ta' do. Then m' done for awhile, maybe. It's nice the gift ya' gave me but hardly necessary. That kind of cash couldn't have come cheap." Luck pounded a fist at his chest several times before the sensation passed and Luck found his voice.

"Anything to ease your worries is of great relief to mine."

"You were worried bout' me? Such a thoughtful little brother."

"You're family Claire. How many times do I have to tell ya'?"

"Dozens. Now tell me dis' Lucky...why do ya' still look the same?" The room grew quiet while, mid-sip, the brunette held his breath and thought fast. He figured it might come down to this one day but imagined if Claire had a family it was likely he'd never cross paths with him until his tombstone somewhere in the 21st century. Displaying not a single hint of discomfort at the question Luck shrugged. It proposed the intention that he had no answer but Claire rose up from his seat and sauntered over, leaning down a hair to become the all intimidating force of god itself. "Really? You don't have an answer? Dats' funny, cause I have one-just a rumor. Wanna hear it?"

"If I must," The younger brother helplessly uttered, knowing exactly where this conversation was going before it started and walked back to his desk. He would pretend to ignore him and ask for repeats and maybe the infamous assassin will lose his place in the story and leave and- Palms abruptly caused his head to snap up not long after he sat down and reached for the first nameless paper. His surprise lasted for half a second before falling back into the collective and calm mask he always wore, "Acting like a child doesn't suit you Claire." The renowned assassin grinned, spreading in maddening glee while Luck promptly ignored the homicidal look. For him, it was normal and expected. "I must ask you to say what you like and 'den leave. Your visit is always welcome but I'm afraid the timing could have been better. As you can see..." His hand motioned to the pile as he explained himself and waited for the other to make the next move. Luck caught sight of a glint in his siblings hand and reacted incredibly slow in comparison and felt a prickling of pain erupt on his cheek. Instinct enveloped him to cover the shallow wound and come to terms with how much closer Claire was now than before.

"I had a date with an interestin' person on dat' train; a little kid with a big mouth and this inability to _die_. I kept killin' em' and he kept coming back. I tell' ya, I never had so much fun before! A person that revives instantly! What a treat! Ya' know what I did?" Boasted the assassin while Luck felt his blood turn cold at the subtle reference. An immortal. With his free hand the youngest of the family opened one of the drawers and contemplated drawing a gun and how much worse that would make his situation. Claire waved the knife in his hand as he talked the details falling on deaf ears when the brunette caught sight of strands of blood on the serrated edge. _His blood_. "The blood just upped..." Trailed off the older man watching with fascination as the miniscule strands of red rose from the blade and retraced their path back under Luck's covered cheek. The shallow wound instantly knitted whole like it wasn't even there. In the silence Luck didn't move. He didn't dare to breathe while the other occupant whistled and brought the clean knife to the younger's fingers, peeling them aside to confirm his suspicions. "Kinda' like dat. Explains ya' a bit."

Dropping his palms to the underside edge of his desk Luck overturned the desk and snatched up his gun in mid flip. Addressing the other with a loaded gun he motioned to the door, "I suggest you forget what ya' saw here and keep moving Claire. There are higher powers that you clearly don't understand at play—"

"Now, now... The world exists because I allow it, which makes you incredibly grateful to me for allowing you to live. I mean, sure, there are times it dun' work quite the way I want...but you'll never die! How can I not understand that? Dat's expected!" Luck stepped closer to shut his infamous freelance brother up, barrel steady and unwavering while he repeated:

"Claire. Don't make me regret shooting you..."

Laughter bubbled forth. Loud and obnoxious peals of laughter exploded from the eccentric assassin who turned away and held out his hand to give the whole scenario pause while his shoulders shook uncontrollably. "G-Give me a minute Lucky..." Those words were barely understandable before he dissolved into another fit, slapping his knee like Luck had just told the world best joke. Standing there the young capo frowned at the usual display of arrogance-although he tended to overlook the fact that before him was a man who single handed tore apart ruthless killers, made others quake in fear just by his presence, terrified immortals by his sheer stamina and despite all that, Luck still saw him as...relatively normal. Still a mortal. In all due time, like everyone else, he would die from old age. "...That was a good one...Ha...AHAHAHAHA!" For several more minutes the laughter continued to a degree where Luck grew inwardly concerned that someone below might actually hear the commotion and run up to interrupt. Steeling his wits he stepped forward, unheeded by his brothers back turned to him and stretched the gun out closer, like if he put it far away enough that all manner of responsibility wouldn't lay on his shoulders after.

He took a shuddering breath and fired.

* * *

**-1940-**

"Your DAUGHTER?" Although Luck initially played with the idea of Claire having kids before; hearing the truth not long after meeting Chane, let alone marrying the woman, stunned him. Regaining much needed air from the have eaten cancer stick he opened his mouth and snapped it shut several times. Part of him wanted to congratulate as per required, yet another part of him seethed with jealous that the life Claire was living was one he may never be able to experience. The assassin stood with the biggest pose one could muster while waiting for showering praise from every other being in the universe. Rubbing his neck Luck tried to find words that weren't sarcastic or hinting at his growing depression of the knowledge that had plagued him since nine years ago. Why hadn't he told Claire about his immortality? "I'm glad." Said the brunette at last, unsure if any other words were suitable.

Claire looked ready to pout while his impressive stance to the world dropped, "What? Dat's it? Just m' glad'n'all? You get to be the UNCLE" While the youngest gapped (_WHAT?_) Claire hopped onto a half full garbage can and spread his arms out wide. "Dats not all Lucky! I mean, I considered the older brothers as well but when Keith dun speak much and Berga got 'em short fuses in his temper dats kinda not child material, y'know what I'm saying? So den dere's you and ya' great with kids! So dats how I came to dat conclusion. Impressed? Heh, I can see ya are. I'm tellin' ya. Sometimes I surprise myself too!"

_Like a two year old, I swear. I'll never be an old man and you want me to take care of your kid? _Amber eyes lowered in defeat before he tried to object to the madman. There wasn't a word in his vocabulary that would change his brother's mind once he got hold of an idea with such gusto. He would have to fake his death or something and bribe the officials to find someone else legitimately capable of taking care of them. With that backup plan he looked a bit more positive and started to head back out to the sidewalk but a hand gripping his arm stopped him. Quizzically he glanced to his fellow brother, "I thought you were done."

But Claire didn't say anything. It unnerved the young Gandor to raise all barriers while he waited for him to make the first move, "I was."

"Then...?"

"I lied Lucky. I really didn't come ta boast bout' ma family. I came to see 'ya. Its ma job ta' look after ya. 'Specially when 'de others dun' see what I see." Claire didn't sound or look the least bit apologetic in his admittance but that was another thing Luck didn't hold his breath for. He inadvertently followed his elder sibling with his eyes as the black clad figure blocked his escape into the street and planted both hands down on his shoulders, their grip like iron weights meaning whatever troubled him was serious. Resigning to that conclusion he took a breath and looked up, locking eyes. "Why ya' look like all the life been sapped out of ya?" Brows furrowed in response. He could have spilled the reason right there but held back and shrugged as though that simple action explained all his woes. "Da Luck I remember may have been a bit of a cry baby, but dat changed into a smarty pants that run all dis from da shadows. But what I see..."

"Because you're all knowing..." Muttered Luck, taking a small jab at the lunacy of his brother's reality.

Claire ignored him. "...I see such dispassionate eyes...like my world isn't good' enough."

Unexpectedly Luck pushed off the hands the moment he felt them slacken and shoved his brother back. The expert assassin didn't stumble for long; perhaps guessing his reaction would be one of physical anger and took a surprising interest in the development. "Maybe it ain't good enough! Maybe living isn't fer' me, is that a crime in your reality Claire? Is living in hell such a bad thing? In your world it ain't-But mine isn' like yours. Mine is filled with nothing but suffering and agony experienced every waking moment. Who wouldn't lose the ability ta' live?" He was shouting now, his voice carrying years of pent up anger that no one understood; perhaps did not want to understand because they were living the good life without looking at the decrepit future. Yet the words only gave the red-head a pensive, thoughtful look that didn't act or say anything while Luck pushed him aside and stuck his hands in his pockets. He rounded the corner of the alley and joined the milling crowd knowing deep down his capable brother let him go, let him vent because it was an obvious trigger to inspire something other than...Luck Gandor.

Looking back twenty paces away he didn't see the taller figure anywhere in the crowd and took solace in that while he escaped further from his turf, not caring how the voices and chatter of the masses dispensed into calls of seagulls and the swashing crashing of waves against the pier. Stopping right at the edge he gazed down at the waters which swayed like a hypnotic dance, seeing the burning reflection that will never, ever change. Crouching down Luck's hand lowered down to sweep over the surface of the water, disrupting the harmony that returned a moment later. In a lot of ways, it reflected his immortal body. If you sucked up the ocean somehow, it would die. For them, if another immortal devoured him it may be the end of his existence, but he would live on somewhere else, sharing all thoughts, experiences...

...Even his personal fears of life.

Returning to full height the young capo spun on his heel, facing away and held out his arms.

And let gravity push him back into the awaiting waters that swallowed him whole.

_I have no need to be afraid of death... But I have grown afraid of living..._

* * *

**-2003-**

If there ever was a day Luck despised it was every _other _day of the modern era. He stood in line in the liquor store with a piece of plastic in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. His dress wear hinted at his higher than average standing, perhaps thought a business man because kids his age never dressed professionally. Behind him he heard the hum of headphones and music, the _tap, tap, tap _of a mobile phone and the insistent chewing of bubble gum somewhere else. He set the single item down and greeted the cashier with a smile that often melted the female race to goo. "Afternoon..." Said the mafioso and held out the debit card.

"Got a piece of I.D with ya?" She asked, hardly taking a glance at the offered form of payment and tapped the sticker plastered to the counter. Looking down Luck heaved a sigh. It wasn't like this was his first buy but he had no forms of I.D. The government had issued one to Firo before he was shipped off to Alcatraz for god-knows-what but the rest of them...

"I'm afraid I do not. I have an older I.D...I just haven't had the time to renew it..." It was worth a shot, he figured and dug into his wallet and produced a fifty year old expired license from his 'youth'. The woman took it and inspected it before shaking her head.

"Can't do with fake's kid."

Luck could hear the agitation in the way some people groaned at the hold up and muttered things along the lines of missing an all important hockey game. "Ma'am, with all due respect I am older than _you _and ya' father. So if you could just sell me this I would appreciate it." And it was the truth, which sadly didn't carry the same weight it did seventy-two years ago and he knew right away when she picked up the phone that trouble was coming. Heaving a restrained sigh he held since the start of the conversation he was about to lose it until-

"He's with me. Sorry bout' that. My little brother often forgets his I.D all the time. Figures he can sweep the ladies better that way." Luck turned to see one of the customers weave through the line and blinked, trying to defy what he was seeing. His eyes practically bulged as the bottle was brushed by his sleeve and tumbled over the edge. It never made its way to an end because the appearance of the man stopped it with a quick catch...with his foot. "Isn't that right Lucky?" The figure tossed the bottle up and caught it to set down, apologizing while casting a sidelong glance at his little brother. Luck backed away, the rush of memories returning like a bad dream.

_**[..."Y'know I love ya, right little brother? I love you...so, so much..."His arm is held up skyward, the gun teetering at the pressure that causes the loss of feeling to let go of the offending object. "Which is why...I came here ta' do ma job..." Before Luck's trained eyes the arm it wrenched to the side, dislocating, breaking, it was hard to tell while he stumbled away, as though pressing it to his chest would stifle the pain he echoed through a hiss. "And in my world..." The maddening gleam arose as wine colored eyes brightened, "...I can do this all day long...without you feeling a thing"...]**_

"Y-You should be dead...You should be in the grave of old age by now!"

_**[..His hand held in a vice grip while pleasant, innocent words are spoken when the first crack of bone incites his first cry of pain, followed by expert hands that take it a step further, crushing them into a squirting bloodbath of unrecognizable tissue...]**_

"That's kinda' cold dont'cha think? I'm buying you liquor and you respond by telling me ta kick the bucket. Geez..." The familiar red-head offered a nonchalant shrug while handing over a few green bills. The bought bottle was paired with some rum and whiskey of unknown brands. Thanking the lady he turned to feast his eyes on Luck. The kids hadn't aged a day since 1931.

_**[...The sleeve of his suit rises in an attempt to shield his face from the knife that scrapes through the fabric. He is poor at hand to hand yet demonstrates it in an effort to survival, reacting to the quick jabs and swipes of knuckles and steel that constantly keeps him on his toes. Although he manages to see an opening and punches-**__punches __**–and bruises the elder brother dead in his tracks. Claire takes the moment to touch his face where the telltale signs of swelling forms and...Laughs heartily. "You'll be the first to EVER lay a touch on me. Course...it's only cause I let 'ya..." A fist is already ramming into his gut, knocking all semblance of thought and air out of his lungs, "But it's not bad...ya' got spirit in ya."...]**_

Luck kept his distance while his brother approached with a brown bag in his arms, moving in sync with his steps in the opposite direction. "Whattaya scared of?" The line of customers had stopped to stare while Claire made an 'O' expression and lightly smacked his own head, "I get it! I guess I did get a little carried away last time. I tell ya' once the blood started flowing I couldn't contain myself, I tried but hearing your screams was like MUSIC ta' my ears. And that look" A strange hint of red enveloped the boisterous assassins cheeks as though reminiscing the savory memory, a free hand pressing against his cheek "..Dat indescribable swell of fear that sparked in your eyes just took my breath away. Or..." There was nowhere else to go when Luck found a lining of shelves impeded further movement away. The trickling sensation of fear surfaced when his brother face came so close that it brushed hot air against his ear, a whisper ghosting over, "...Took yours."

_**[...Excruciating, that is the only feeling Luck thinks he knows now, followed by the insatiable fear that erupts while his third eldest brother takes a moment to brush his hair softly, gently. But it's a ploy; he knows it is because Vino is not gentle when he kills. As though reading his mind Claire gives pause, "What? Are ya' scared Lucky? I ain't here ta kill ya, if dats what's eatin' ya..." His hands, covered time and time again in his own blood that rewinds endlessly, take hold of his throat while he bores down, nose to nose so that amber cannot escape the sight of vibrant red. He's afraid to close his eyes as they waver, air a luxury with the all-encompassing presence of Claire's suffocating world pressing down on him. "I'm jus' ere ta share my love fer ya Luck..."...]**_

That did it. Luck pushed him aside and ran for his life out of the store.

Claire couldn't contain his laughter as it echoed long after the others imminent departure.

"Aaaaaah...That never gets old. Sorry lady, fer the mess n' stuff. My kid brother is actually a lot older than he looks by bout' eighty years so next time, jus' sell em the bloody bottle." Opening his wallet in midst of passing the cashier he took out a few hundreds and dropped it on the counter, "Sorry bout' dat." He raised the bag and took out the bottle of choice to check the label and smirked, "Heh! He picks the Italian wine with my name. HAHAHAHAHA! Aaaaaah..."

* * *

**-1987-**

Luck stood by the piers edge, gazing at the same waters as he always did when he needed to clear his mind. They had changed over time, becoming something muddled in pollution as technology and human interference destroyed the natural balance of its worth. Taking a drag of his smoke he stood admiring the sky, the sea water, and the smells of salt and mixtures of sea-life, fish, and other things. Digging into his pocket he withdrew a letter and found his legs dropping down as he draped them over the edge, taking up a seat on the dirty concrete and read the words that echoed the voices of those he hadn't heard in a long, long time.

_ Dear Luck,_

_How have you been? Sorry I never got back to you after up and leaving you and Keith. I had to leave; had to take some time away and enjoy my life with my wife. I tell you...immortality had sounded grand back during our age when gang fights were legitimate. As the world ages and transforms I fear there will be a time when our organization won't mean anything. Then there's my wife, my love, and the life we've shared in bliss while away-but she passed away to illness a few weeks ago. It was expected but I think I know understand why you've kept your distance from the rest of the world. My heart is heavy with guilt and knowledge that I could never have truly been with her forever. Burdened by this I..._

_ I..._

_Forgive me for being the weaker man. I'm out. I fold. I know the Gandor name will continue on with pride and success as long as you're around. Don't come looking for me. I won't be anywhere. _

_P.S: Tell dem' kids of Claires that they were a right bunch of bastards, will ya? And apologize ta' Keith fer me. I dun' wanna feel like I let him down. _

_Sincerely,_

_Berga Gandor_

_1985_

Luck didn't even blink to the date or the message and lifted the letter to the sky when a buffeting wind swept by, as did the final words of his brother into the air, flung from his fingers on purpose and carried off into the abyss of the ever changing world. He heard footsteps behind him and lowered his chin in silent admission for the other to join him. It was Tick, as expected, who took up residence and wordlessly folded his hands together, kicking at the walls with his heels. "Dat leaves you right Mr. Luuuuuck?" A nod came with the sullen expression forming further as he retreated in his shell of misery. But the blond specialist scratched the tip of his nose while looking up at the sky, "Dere's still cause to be haaaaaaaaaappy."

"With everyone I know dying? I don't feel particularly feel happiness." Said Luck.

"Maaaaaaaaaaaybe. But you felt something when Vino visited you, yes?" Although the memory was entirely unwelcome he did admit that he felt something when the burden of his misery lifted off his chest. Confiding in his homicidal maniac of a brother did ease some of him, but also warranted the ire of the red-haired menace who insisted he live for something, _anything, _even if he didn't wholly believe in it. He spent years searching for the answer after their final, shaky encounter. Luck lowered his gaze back down and stiffened at the sudden arms around him. "Jus' me Mr. Luuuuuck. This made me happy." Yet the affection only did the complete opposite by providing reason for the young Gandor to cover his eyes as the sting of hot tears began to blur his vision. The display of such shame didn't go unnoticed and Tick shifted closer, "Why 'ya blue bossman?" But Luck knew that his fellow immortal knew the reason. He wasn't dumb, wasn't blind like he had been for so long. If he hadn't given up on life quite so soon because of looking forward rather than in the moment perhaps it all could have been different, better somehow... "Mr. Luuuuuck?" A handkerchief lifted up to brush against the hands, lightly patting them against cloth and the ironic cushion of scissors. "Cheeeeeer up."

"I've lost all of them Tick..." He uttered, gratefully accepting the cloth, "Keith, Berga...In another few years, Claire. Family was all I had."

"I'm still eeeeeeee'reeeeeee..."

Luck smiled weakly, "I know." But Tick cracked open his eyes, the unusually dark brown a rarity to see. It was a silent confirmation that Tick was family as far as was considered, but a bond between brothers was something no friend or extended family were able to replace. And when those were lost it was impossible to replace the same feeling, even if it were fabricated with a temporary replacement. "Mr. Tick."

"Yes Mr. Luuuuuuuuuuck?" The eyes turned upward, back into the childish mask at the words.

"...Thank you. I mean it. You and I...we're going to find a purpose together, understand?"

"Sure thing Mr. Luuuuuuuuuuuuck...but I haven't cleaned some of my tools yet..."

Luck erupted into laughter at the absurdity of it all and let the cloth fall into the water beneath them. Its unusual shape tossed and turned in the water, the waves never quite the same as it constantly changed shape in each rolling wave. Luck announced their time to leave and in their absence the cloth was picked up from the murky water and tossed onto the ground, the shadow of a smile vibrant in the reflection of the puddles made in scattered droplets.

"Yes...That's exactly it Lucky."

And the world halted as the dancing paper released to chance landed in the figures outstretched hand.

"Don't worry..." It said, "My world won't abandon a place fer' you...either of ya'"

* * *

**-1942-**

...And fired.

Luck hadn't had the heart to see if he made his mark on a family member and shut his eyes, only to re-open them when the groans of pain didn't come. He did however notice his arm was help up skyward against his will, the gun teetering in a rapidly losing sense of touch as feeling ebbed away from the crushing grip of his wrist. "Y'know I love ya, right little brother? I love you..." The gun slipped from his fingers and crashed to the ground. Without the weapon Luck felt oddly naked and defenceless when faced with the infamous 'Rail Tracer'. "...So..." The bone made an unpleasant shift, cracking echoing in the room that Luck momentarily thought it would break in the struggle, "...so...much. Which is why...I came here ta' do ma job..." Before his very eyes the assassin wrenched the arm to the side. The pop from his shoulder announced a dislocation while the very bone made an unsavory snap between two hands that decisively broke it effortlessly like a pencil. Sucking in a harsh breath as the pain escalated from barely bearable to ludicrous in a few short seconds, Luck stumbled away while the red-head looked on in marveling assessment of his handy work. It took a little longer than resurrection from death, but the bones started to reconnect and ascertain their previous positions with little more than discomforting jarring pain, nothing of the likes on Claires' scale. Despite this he hissed through clenched teeth and pressed it to his chest, hoping to smother it. "And in my world..." The maddening gleam arose as the younger brother returned his arm to his side, healed and ready for another round. Wine colored eyes were ever brightening in internal glee that rushed forward as he reached for the arm, taking the very same hand from the broken arm against the expected retaliation of a swing, and bent it backwards towards the amber eyes that scrunched in pain, "...I can do this all day long...without you feeling a thing!"

Broken fingers bent in an unhealthy reversing C were twisted and ripped off. Spots of black danced in Lucks eyes while he attempted to try and grab his bearings over the overwhelming agony as his hand bled endlessly and bone touched his other whole hand, sending shivers down his back. Then, just as it happened, time rewound and the entirety of its happening disappeared, all except the glaring memory that showed no signs of letting up. "What the hell is wrong with you!?" The brunette was having a hard time to keep his voice from quaking in fear while Vino-Claires' embodiment of hell-strolled around the desk at his own leisure while Luck wisely backed away. "Claire!"

"Now, now Lucky...it kind of sounds like ya' dun' want me ere..." Claire scratched absently at his hair, "...Also kinda sounds like ya' are afraid. Is that it? Is dat what I'm seeing? Ya' shouldn't be afraid...not yet...I haven't even gotten started..." The bookcase rocked a little when Luck collided into it and the demon came that much closer. "Ya' got such dainty girly hands Lucky...it would be a shame..." He takes both of them while Luck is frozen as they are played with, spread flat against bigger ones that tap and caress the smooth skin; youthful and unchanging. "For them..." One palm flips and twists the connection between the hand and wrist and rips it off with startling force. Unable to reach for it due to the other hand held hostage he's surprised how his voice whimpers because it is _so unbearably painful_. "Whoops. Sorry, let me get that fer ya..." he's already down and up with the bloody limb in his and gives no indication of remorse while the suit is stained beyond comprehension, "Now, now...don't cry just yet..." Just as the initiating process of healing commences Claire brings the captured hand to the shaky amber eyes that widen in fear, apprehension, and knowing anticipation-but not in a good way. The fingers bunch together and twist and shape around each others in a noodle impression that expresses its deranged unhappiness through a squirting bloodbath that falls prey to the elder brother ministrations of pain. He drops the hand and lets his sibling fall to the floor. "Now you can start crying Lucky...but only for a few minutes..."

Luck can barely hear him while he shakes in his trauma. He does hear the echo of popped knuckles.

"Be quick bout' it. I'm still got lots of ideas left fer 'ya." Says Claire while the limbs all reattach and form back to their original proper way, "Unless..." A gasp finds its way out that is completely out of character for Vino who mocks him, "Unless dats it! You're not leaving me high n' dry are ya' Luck?" But as the words find purchase to the brunette the other is brought up by sheer will to inflict some sort of pain-anything to feel satisfaction. He throws fist after fist that meet air as his brother dodges one by one. The familiar knife that pricked his skin earlier aims to slash his face and only managed to tear his sleeve of his suit and cut a sliver of skin with it. Tossing that idea Claire humors him with fast punches that he blocks and parries. The blows leave lasting bruises that ache at the sheer force behind the assassin. In a moment of clarity the fist of his brother slides to the right, aiming for him and leave an open shot that Luck sacrifices a penetrating blow to his upper chest to land one of his own on Claires face. Their battles grinds to a halt while realization sets in for the young Gandor at what feat he accomplished and how _dead _he was for doing it. But the madman just throws his head back and laughs while running a hand over his cheek, testing the waters of pain that he probably never experienced before. "You'll be the first to EVER lay a touch on me..." The dangerous flash of red dilates, "Course...it's only cause I let 'ya..." The first forms and launched into his gut, knocking air and everything with it out of his lungs, "But it's not bad...ya got spirit in 'ya..." he remarks while the younger sibling collapses to the floor, twitching.

"What...why are ya' doing this Claire...?" The astonishing will to stand surprises the elder Gandor who pushes him back the moment he's halfway up. Still winded, it's a little pathetic to see the immortal lose his footing and crash back. There's no corner to run to, no other person to barge in, and no escape to be had; Claire takes the entire scene in and smiles a relieved sort of happy sigh. If the sound didn't irk the immortal youth, then sudden weight that pushes his back down and straddles him sends his body into a quivering mess of frazzles nerves. "I...I...I can still feel what you're doing Claire...Claire please..." A finger stabs at his nose, dead center that makes the helpless one flinch.

"Dat is what I've been paid to look fer!" Claire crows and clamps the arms down that dared to rise any further beyond the head, "Tsk, tsk...but I gotta admit...I had to get real creative cause ya' don't really fear anythin' do ya'? How about feel?" The question is already known to the both of him of what he _feels _but Luck whispers it all the same, afraid of what _hell _will come if he didn't.

"Excruciating pain..."

"WRONG!" Luck's eyes shrivel in worry when the booming voice bellowed and his arms were freed but frozen at the lack of circulation, put to sleep in a demanding hold. "No, no, not pain little brother..." He's almost-almost gentle with how he brushes his fingers through the impeccable disarray of the young Gandor who stares at him, petrified of his next action. He understood now just how and w_hy _Czes fled on sight of the infamous figure. "What? Are ya' scared Lucky? I ain't here to kill ya, if dats what's eatin' ya..." He doesn't give Luck the pause to reply or make a sound before he's nose to nose, red over amber, and his hands a noose around the throat and squeezing the life from his body. He's unable to look away, unable to shut his eyes as they are held captive while his brother leans past, whispering in his ear as the luxury of air drifts away, "I'm jus'ere ta share my love fer ya Luck..." But Luck doesn't quite see it the same way and gasped, feeling returning to pry at the hands as they tighten. Close to blackening out, maybe dying-_but you promised you wouldn't Claire..._-he's let go. The rush of air is as painful as the extraction of it. He coughs while Claire rises up and waits for his next move.

The moment he has no weight Luck scrambles to his feet and covers his face as he launches his form out the window.

"Well...dat was almost too easy. Heh..." The assassin trailed after the youth and leaned out the window, staring down, down, down.

"Dats gonna hurt like hell."

* * *

**-1987-**

A shattering of glass was imminent as the bullet sliced through the tiniest of cracks, followed by several more shots that rendered the glass useless, unable to keep its hold before it fell to its demise. It was exactly how he felt when Claire gave him a taste of medicine meant to inspire him-to jump out the window? Why not, it made complete sense now, and perhaps served to educate him in what it took to be a mafioso and head of the Gandor family, the position clearly not to be taken lightly. Biting the inside of his cheek he tossed the gun to the side and leaned heavily against the frame, overlooking the streets as people walked on, dressed in all sorts of colors from all corners of the globe. Manhattan had evolved where he did not, still stuck in the old days where things were earned, not given out of pity. "Problem Mr. Luuuuuuuck? Heard shots and was a little woooooorried..." The peering face from the open doorway earned a light smile as Luck left the window as it was and gave the room one last long look.

"Nothing of the sort. I was merely committing the years spent here to memory. It's a shame we were bought out, but such is life isn't it? We'll just build a new place...I've been thinking of something along the lines out of da' country. Whattaya' think Mr. Tick?"

"Sound promising. As long as I'm with Mr. Luuuuuuck, dere's no proooooblem..." Sliding to the side and allowing Luck to take the lead out Tick scratched the air with his scissors, though they had long since become part of the air to Lucks' ears, even if they drove some absolutely insane. He ran his palm along the walls, dragging across years of dust, joys, and sorrows with it. This was the place his father built and expanded upon as their family grew and now it had come to an end-but also a new beginning. Even if none of his brothers were around to see it. Abruptly Luck turned and stopped his partner, "Mr. Luck?"

"Tick...I need you to do a favor."

"Yeeeeeeeeeeees? Anything for Mr. Luck..."

The stray strands of the brunette swept to the side while he withdrew his spare gun he kept in his jacket pocket. Handing it to Tick he took a few steps away. "Shoot me."

"Uh...Mr. Luck?"

"Please Mr. Tick. I need to cast off this burden. I need to be born anew. I realize now what Claire was trying to teach me, show me through his own warped methods..."

"Whatever works for you Mr. Luuuuuuuuuuck...I won't be fired right?"

"Of course not."

"Ooooooooooooooooooooooookay..."

**B-A-N-G**

* * *

**-1940-**

"Luck!"

"Lucky!"

There was a swelling of breath that he took somewhere in the miasma, hands over his chest and pressing down. He coughed and turned his head to the side, spitting up water that filled his lungs until he could breathe. Cracking open his eyes he noticed three distinctive shapes and narrowed his focus a little on each one. Keith was kneeling on his left hands left hovering over his chest, and to the right Claire gazed down with worried eyes that didn't suit him at all. A little ways he saw Berga soaked to the ass and wringing out his coat as he made a show of drying it by shaking it everywhere. Dazed he turned his eyes to the sky dead ahead and tried to piece together his foggy memory. He had attempted...suicide, right. His body wracked with cough while he sat up, aided by both sets of hands that supported him. They always had been there, he realized, he just never bothered to consider it. "You all dere' Lucky? Man, dat was close. Ya' were so pale..."

"Sorry..." But it was Berga who barreled ahead by flipping his shit in the only way he knew how.

Yelling. It was a Berga thing.

"WHAT THE HELL LUCK? YOU GO THROWIN' YA-SELF IN DA RIVER FOR GIGGLES? WHAT'S WRONG WITH YA?" Use to the usual treatment of vocal abuse Luck only lowered his chin more, unsure of how to put it to his fellow siblings. How does one usually describe a pointless existence? "HEY!" His collar was stretched forward, although that was immediately dropped when Claire stepped in, slamming his fist into the oldest' side.

"Enough. Can't ya see he's fine? Give em' some space man. He just recovered from drowning and ya' look ready to throw em' back in."

Keith nodded and hoisted the youngest Gandor up with a simple yank. Back on his feet Luck still bowed his head. He knew the others would be mute on their 'condition' leading Claire to believe he nearly drowned. "Luck," It was Keith who spoke over the rest, "If you're troubled...we're here for you. Time may change. We won't."

Claire hyperactively shoved Berga aside, "Dats right! In my world everyday will be a magical day full of life and FUN!" His hands stretched as wide as his imagination, "WITH DEM' DOLLS AND BLOOD AND—"

Keith sighed.

"Ya know, in my travels little Lucky..." Arms wound around in their carefree nature, completely ignoring the damp clothes as he directed him away from the waters, "Dey got dis AMAZING new hot thing in Detroit called a Chai Latte. Damn ya gotta come wit' me sometime..."

"I dunno Claire..." he spat some more water out, "...You're the Rail Tracer."

SLAP

If he hadn't been held up he would have went head first into the pavement, "FORMER Rail Tracer, dont'cha forget bout' it."

Flanked by his fellow blood brothers on both side and his closely connected adopted Luck had to admit... he was a foolish idiot thinking that there was no other life but solitude. Maybe..,.

He had his brothers after all.

"Sorry guys... I'll tell you soon."

* * *

**-1942-**

Concrete rushed up along with an unprecedented crowd of common folk who looked up seeing a shape crash through the window. Luck knew what was going to happen and braced himself as his skull smashed face first, probably splitting open like an egg. His arms and legs bent at odd angles while his chest caved and ribs bent, stabbing other organs to cease function and bleed out in every place where there was room. Slowly sounds became words, and words became screams while he groggily reconnected himself with his bearings; wounds gone in a matter of seconds from impact. Holding his head to feel something solid and real he turned back to see the red haired assassin watching him, one leg draped over the nonexistent glass frame that use to be there. Upon spotting that he had the young Gandors attention he waved down. People yelled at him, some knew him by name and others were oblivious; some fanatical about miracles and god and parted a sea of strangers for him to dash away. He ran, not knowing where his legs were taking him. He passed by shops he grew up around and saw people that he could have joined in having tea and coffee as a grown man had things been different. He ran, and ran, until his lungs burned and his legs ached. Yet he kept going, making a turn into a side area left abandoned by a slew of would-be-mafia kids long ago. Finding a covering Luck jogged to it, slamming his back against it while he fought to catch his breath and swallow some much needed fluids.

He barely had a minute before something-_someone-_dropped down from the sky, clearly out of breath yet still looking for all intent and purposes ready for another marathon. "Lucky! Ya' got spunk kid. I didn't think ya had such stamina. I woulda' wore something less stuffy," Too tired to care Luck slid down the wall and covered his eyes, hoping the phantom would give him piece of mind.

"Kill me already! Do what you have to do! Please just...stop torturing me..."

Claire blinked. "Huh? Dat wasn't my job Lucky. Wanna know what it was?"

"To kill me."

"Naah. I wasn't even paid fer dis cause it' was a family request. See..." The touch of skin that had broken every bone touched had his heart racing and anticipating some sort of mind trick to drag out another session. But there came no pain, not even as they unfolded his eyes and beckoned his terrified gaze to stare down at the intertwined fingers, "I kinda' figured-Well, de boys an' me- thought da' reason ya' were so depressed was cause ya' lost the will to live. Dat jus' ain't acceptable in mah world. And den, like a broken heart ya' even lost da ability to feel. It's not nearly as entertain' torture when ya' look like an emotionless mask all the time. I was instructed to get this..." One hand loosened its hold and reached forward, unheeded by the apprehensive shift away to press against the chest, curling over the heart that pumped fiercely in retaliation, "Goin'. I think I succeeded, ya?"

_So that's it. My brothers knew all those years ago exactly what troubled me. Come to think of it, they always tried to talk to me, get me to go out and do things, find a girl-some semblance of life but I was too disenchanted that the damage had already been done. I did...feel...fear...I suppose..._There was a moment of clarity that Luck found when he was lurched forward by powerful arms and enveloped in a tight hug. _I felt something...I felt... _"I felt ...a desire to live..."

"Dats a start den'. C'mon Luck...ya' can be a kid again. It's okay. I'll catch ya when ya fall. I always have, and always will. Cause'm gonna follow ya to eternity...cause I'm da center of this world..."

For the first time in _years _Luck burrowed his face into the black coat of his older sibling and cried.

* * *

**-2003-**

"You're a rotten brother."

"And you're a moron. What's up?"

Luck held out his hand for his purchase and took the bottle out despite the insistence he take the whole bag, "Not all my memories are peaches and roses with you."

"HAH! I know. I was counting on it. I wasn't disappointed." A snort followed and prompted the infamous assassin to plop down on the bench, their greeting a little ways from the store, "Told ya I'd follow ya."

"Did Chane?"

"She passed away a few years ago."

"So called Mr. Center of the universe..."

Claire leaned back and made a pass over his head, "Me. This doesn't include her. I can't slow her down."

"So..."

"So? We continue like we always have. Surely your little organization needs an assassin as good as me, right? Never did find a replacement huh?" Claire hadn't changed much, Luck noted while the elder had gotten more defined age in his face and his hair a tad darker. He still looked a lot older than Luck would ever physically look. "To be honest...I didn't even come back fer that."

Amber peered at him in question. "What did you come back for then?"

"Don't you remember?

* * *

**-1916-**

"Hey Luck...Stop crying...its okay. Really. You're gonna be fine."

"Buh...but the bullies..."

"I'll protect you."

"Really?"

"Yeah! Just leave it all to me. I'll look after everyone, and that includes you!"

"Promise?"

* * *

**-1940-**

"Hey...didn't I promise ya'? Were your brothers."

"Yeah, and Gandors. We gotta stick together and make this family something father can be proud of."

Luck stared in surprise, "You guys..."

"Family."

Luck couldn't help but laugh, and soon the others joined in.

"But' dun think ya can jus' up and leave da' rail tracer. Dere's a fine fer dat."

"Yeah, a knuckle sandwich kind."

* * *

**-1942-1987-2003-**

"_I remember."_

"_**Do ya? Den' don't forget ta live a little, alright?"**_

_**-FIN-**_

* * *

A/N: The end. Thank you for reading. It was kind of painful to write.


End file.
